


The Marvelous Mr. Merlin

by EmmasHouse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Stand Up Comedy, dark humor kind of, inspired by marvelous mrs maisel, more cussing than necessary, violence and organized crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmasHouse/pseuds/EmmasHouse
Summary: In which Merlin is a human disaster moonlighting as a stand-up comic, Arthur is the world's worst gangster, and Morgana would rather die than stay at home all day.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin didn’t really know what he was doing. He knew that he was very, very drunk and at Gaius’ bar, holding a microphone. He’d just made the biggest mistake of his life, and now he was slurring all of his insecurities to ten people. 

“I did something really bad.” He said, breathless after wrestling the mic from Gwaine’s hands. “And I need someone to know.”

“I didn’t kill anybody, so don’t worry.” Merlin faltered, considering the gravity of his actions. “Actually I guess I kind of did.”

“I am a man with a secret!” He yelled into the mic, flinching when feedback rang back at him. “I’m very bad at holding my liquor.” He whispered. “And I am kind of gay. But don’t tell anybody.

“I recently got to know my dad. He’s been gone for twenty-four years, since I was a baby, and I got to meet him last year.” Merlin thought of seeing Balinor’s kind eyes, watering at the train station when he met his son. He felt sick to his stomach now, nauseous from guilt.

“Well. I met my dad and he asked me if I had a girlfriend. And I don’t know this man at all, mind you. He could leave again if he knew. So, like a coward, I said ‘yeah, Pop, I’ve got a girl.’”

Merlin shuddered at the memory. “Those words actually came out of my mouth. I was like some bad imitation of a teenage greaser. Imagine finding out you have a son and meeting him for the first time ever. And you ask him if he has a girlfriend, and he responds, ‘Yeah, Pop,’ keep in mind you have never met this kid before in your life, ‘I’ve got a girl.’ That was the first time I experienced paternal disappointment. And honestly, I may prefer not having a dad to having that confused, slightly sad, slightly let down face in my life.”

A woman at the bar laughs so hard her cocktail starts coming out of her nose. “Oh that’s gotta sting. I’ve been there, don’t worry it’ll only burn for a couple seconds. Whiskey’s the real kicker. You  _ never  _ want that in your nose.” Merlin remembers the feeling far too well. The woman glares at him, presumably for calling attention to her, but Merlin couldn’t be bothered. A woman that beautiful was probably used to the attention. 

“So yeah, that was about a year ago. I told my dad I had a girlfriend, despite the fact that I am very gay. He started asking me about her, just general dad stuff, you know. And for some reason, I just dive into the lie. Way past the point of recovery. I say her name’s Freya. She’s pretty, dark-haired, nice, a fellow teacher. And then, because I’m an English Lit major, and I wish my life was a Dickens novel, I go ‘Oh yeah, and you know what? She’s an orphan!’” 

Merlin cringed at the memory. He stopped for a moment, wanting to bask in his own shame. “Because you should absolutely bring up orphans into a conversation with your estranged father, who was forced to leave before you were born and feels like shit over it, right? So anyways, me and my orphan girlfriend Freya, are actually married. Turns out she’s my orphan wife! What do you know? My dad starts crying, he’s so happy for me. And I know, I know, I’m a real piece of shit for that, but let me tell you, it only gets worse.”

Merlin pulls up a chair, and now there’s maybe fifteen people listening to him, which is weird and stressful. He knows most of them, all regular patrons of the Citadel, but they don’t know Merlin  _ this _ well. Honestly, he’s too drunk and upset to really care at this point. 

“I spent the past year making up excuses as to why he couldn’t meet Freya. I made my mother cry, because she thought I didn’t want her to know about my wife.That I got married in secret so she wouldn’t find out. And somewhere, in the middle of this, I just wish I came out as gay in high school. Like yeah, I would’ve been bullied more often, but I’ve found that being shoved into a locker is a lot more enjoyable than  _ wishing _ someone would shove you into a locker. Because, ladies and gentlemen, a dark locker full of rotting PB and J’s is exactly where I deserve to be right now.”

Some more people laughed, and the woman at the bar walked over and sat at the table directly across from him. 

“Turns out, a twenty-six year old girl named Freya, who was orphaned at the age of ten and taught elementary school in Boston, and died last week. Car accident. And did you know that newspapers still print obituaries? Because I didn’t know that. I also didn’t know that people  _ read _ obituaries. Particularly that fifty-year old Welsh men who’ve recently discovered they had a kid read the obits. Because patrons of this lovely bar, I am now a widower.”

If the bar fell silent, Merlin didn’t notice. He was too wrapped up in his own self-pity to pay attention to everyone else in the room. Only, the woman from earlier started laughing. A loud, delirious, joyful sound that reminded Merlin of how hollow he was actually feeling. 

“Well I’m glad you think I’m funny. Because my parents certainly didn’t. Not that I told them the truth, but I guess I have to soon. Just, you know? I spent so much time imagining what my dad would be like that when I met him, I was so impressed. He’s actually  _ cool _ . He wears leather jackets and has a full head of hair. I was expecting him to look like, I don’t know, Uther Pendragon? Super scary with a stupid comb-over? Yeah I don’t know. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

And Merlin wasn’t sure what actually broke him. If it was Gaius’ pitying looks from across the room, the woman’s raucous laughter, the way she glared at him when he spoke the Pendragon name, or maybe admitting what he’d been up to for the past year. But then he was sobbing, and Gwaine was carrying him upstairs, and the woman was still glaring at his back. 


	2. Chapter 2

Much like the first time, the second time was an accident. Merlin had just come clean to his dad about Freya, immediately after his parents announced that they were getting back together. He’d gotten yelled at, called insensitive, and made his mother cry again. Of course by that point, Merlin was far too traumatised to explain himself. He took the bus home to his apartment (regretfully, he cried on public transport). Only, he got home to find an eviction notice on his door. Apparently, Merlin’s neighbor had finally ratted to the landlord about his pet bird, Kilgharrah. Which of course meant that his parrot was now flying around the city, never to be seen again. Or worse, locked up in an animal control facility. He would check in the morning.

Going to Gaius’ actually was intentional. He needed a place to stay, a glass of whiskey, and someone, anyone to tell him he’d be okay.

Unfortunately, only one of those things came to fruition. He’d gotten whiskey, definitely, and shots, and all other sorts of delightful things from Gwaine when he arrived at the bar. It was a Saturday night and the bar was reasonably packed. A fidgety man in his late twenties stood on the wooden block that served at a stage. He wasn’t a comic, that was for sure. His stance was too rigid, his voice too slow. 

“Oh Jesus fuck, Gwaine? Slam poetry?  _ Really? _ ” The bartender shrugged, flashing an encouraging smile at the guy on stage, who proceeded to compare his wife to some sort of flower. 

“Fuck that. You’ll run this place out of business if you keep booking that shit.” Merlin downed another shot, eyes watering from the burn in his throat. 

“You know. If you wanna get up there again, I won’t fight you this time.” Merlin was used to Gwaine winking. Usually after a proposition for sex or when you paid for his meal, Gwaine winked all the time. Unfortunately this was a new type of wink. An  _ encouraging _ wink, if that was even possible from Gwaine. 

The rest of the night was something of a blur. He got up on the platform and started talking about his parents. About his late onset daddy issues, and the fact that no one seemed to believe he was actually gay.

“I mean, I guess it’s really my bad. I  _ know  _ I should dress better. I know I look like every Catholic mom’s dream son-in-law.” Merlin gestured to the button-down and slacks he wore. “But I am a teacher, right? I don’t want people to think I’m the weird Lit teacher who wears three piece suits. I have a reputation to uphold.”

From behind the bar, Gwaine shouted at him. “What exactly  _ is _ that reputation?” 

“Hey. Be nice, Gwaine. I am currently the hot, young English teacher that the sophomore girls whisper about until I fail them for being such shit writers. It’s a delicate position, and I am sure as hell not losing it to the new art teacher.”

Of course, after being provoked, Merlin spent the next twenty minutes talking about the new art teacher, Mr. du Lac and his stupid hair. He was definitely more attractive than Merlin, and only a few years older. The only thing Merlin had going for him was that all the students had to take his class, whereas Mr. du Lac only taught an elective. 

“There’s no way this man has a degree. I’m halfway convinced the principal was looking at a male underwear catalog during the interviews and thought, ‘Hey, what if we just hired someone to look pretty? Right now the prettiest we’ve got is that pasty bastard who won’t shut up about Yeats.’”

It was definitely wrong to make fun of his boss and coworkers. But it was also wrong to invent a dead wife and make your mother cry, so in the grand scheme of things, this set wasn’t too bad. 

“That’s me. I’m the pasty bastard.” Merlin faltered, starting to feel fuzzy from the alcohol. “Oh wait. I guess I’m not a bastard anymore, since my parents are getting married. Does it count if it's twenty four years late?”

It was strange, the moment Merlin realized the bar patrons had stopped talking and were actually  _ listening _ to him. People were laughing at his jokes. People who weren’t Will or his mom. There were people applauding him when he stepped down. 

A blonde girl stumbled her way over to him as he made his way back towards Gwaine, and safety behind the bar. 

“Hey! You! You’re really funny!” She grabbed Merlin’s shoulder, steadying herself. “I’m Elena. Do you do gigs here every night? It’s my first time here.” 

“Um…” Merlin looked over at Gwaine, who was far too busy checking Elena out to listen to their conversation. “Not every night. Just when I feel like it.”

“Well, I think you should do it all the time. There’s not that many good comics playing dives like this anymore. Why don’t you call and tell me whenever you’ve got a gig?” Before Merlin could register what was even happening, Elena was writing her number down and slipping it in his jacket pocket. 

“Um. Yeah. Okay, sure.” Gwaine was nearly pulling his hair out behind the bar as Merlin shuffled awkwardly.  _ What was that? _ Surely, if she liked him that much, she would’ve heard all the bits about him being gay? 

“Hey, wait! What’s your name?” Merlin froze there, just for a minute. If this was going to be a regular thing, he couldn’t just use his name. Otherwise the school would find out, and fire him for a number of reasons (profanity, gayness, etc.). If he told Elena his real name, he’d end up censored or unemployed. 

“Emrys.” He said, Emrys was another name the wizard Merlin had, right? It was kind of clever, especially for a Lit major.Even if Gwaine made fun of him for it later. 

Elena smiled. “Emrys. I like that, it’s got mystery.” Merlin laughed at that. If there was one thing Merlin absolutely didn’t have, it was mystery. His life was an open book, hell, he just spent forty minutes telling a bunch of strangers about the most embarrassing that’s ever happened to him. 

Behind the bar, Merlin could see Gwaine grinning, waving his hands about and telling the group of men at the bar about their resident comic, Emrys. 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not that Arthur’s job isn’t fulfilling (it isn’t), it just isn’t really what he expected running a business to be. He assumed that Pendragon and Sons would be a little more...organized? Well-run? Perhaps maybe not dealing in secret with the Mob? 

Arthur was a fresh business school graduate. He’d spent the past six years, four in undergrad and the last two for his masters, studying exactly what makes and breaks a business in this economy. And from every angle he analyzed it, there was no logical reason why the family business hasn’t gone bankrupt, or underwent a police investigation.

“Dad, if I’m going to be the vice president you _have_ to tell me how much money we’ve made this year.” Arthur was weary, to say the least. He was coming from a world of like-minded individuals, eager to learn about the economy and how to manipulate it. He thought that taking over the family business would put that knowledge to excellent use, that his father would be so impressed with how competent he was. Instead, working for Pendragon and Sons was more akin to reliving his childhood. The slap of his father’s hand against his cheek didn’t even sting anymore, the man was getting so weak. 

“Hey, if you want to be ‘vice president of the company’, you better keep your mouth shut.” Uther Pendragon was a stubborn man, to say the least. He fought in the First World War. (Arthur’s around 90% sure the reason he received a “medical exemption” from the second draft was because of his Nazi sympathies.) Uther Pendragon didn’t go to college, neither did his father. Arthur’s grandfather started Pendragon and Sons when he was seventeen, originally as a bail bonds supplier. When Uther took over, at twenty years old, it became something else entirely. They still supplied bail bonds, but Arthur wasn’t really sure about some of the characters that frequented the building. Then there was the matter that Uther routinely evaded taxes, exclusively dealt in cash, and hid fat stacks of money in random locations throughout the office.

“You can’t keep me in the dark forever. When I take over, I’m not cleaning up whatever mess you leave lying around.” Arthur bit back, storming out of the room and back to his own office. His office, which was more of a cubicle, was more of a courtesy than anything else. 

When he arrived, Morgana was sitting on his desk, cross-legged and batting her eyes at the accountants. Arthur had desperately hoped that when she and Leon married, Morgana would begin to mature. That she’d grow out of this constant flirting and loitering around the business. Of course, now that she was out of school, and had yet to decide if she was going to work, she was always here. 

“Before you say no, I want you to remember that it’s my birthday tomorrow.” Arthur hadn’t even sat down before she started begging with him. It seemed like every week she’d do this--come to his office or call his home, talk about whatever “great” (always overly crass and provocative) new comedian is speaking at whatever “great” (always shady, always disgusting and filthy) bar downtown. 

“No. Last time I went out with you, my tie was stolen _while it was on._ I refuse to go to your stupid little bars just because you’re bored with married life.” He knew she could see the lingering red on his cheek from their father’s hand. Maybe that was why Arthur had to start this off on the offensive, because he was in no place to handle her pity. Or worse, her judgement. 

“This time is different. I’ve seen this comic before. He’s such a blast! I’ve only seen him once, but Arthur, he is the funniest man alive. You’ll adore him, I promise.” Arthur still had no inclination to go with her. The comics Morgana liked were the exact opposite of Arthur’s sense of humor. Maybe that was because she thinks Arthur’s taste is too mundane, too normal for the downtown scene. 

“Arthur please!” She whined in that way only little sisters seemed to be able to do. This was just like every time when they were kids. Arthur tries to be responsible and rein Morgana in. She uses whatever whiny, pleading tricks she has up her sleeve and like a good older brother, Arthur just lets her do what she wants. 

________________________________________________________

“Alright let’s get something straight. I’m not a magician.” The man on the platform tapped the mic and spoke too softly for anyone at the back of the bar to hear him. “I know, you see a flyer that says ‘Live entertainment tonight!’ on the front of the door. And you find out it’s some pasty kid named Emrys. You think, oh God no, not a magic act, right? Because surely no one is that unfortunate to have ears like that _and_ a stupid name? He must be a magician.”

He was still speaking too quietly, so much so that everytime Arthur tried to say something Morgana would hiss a “shhh!” at him. 

“I’m _not_ a magician. So you fuckers can stop looking at me like that.” 

“What’s with the tux then?” From Arthur’s other side, Leon spoke up. The man, Emrys apparently, looked away from the bar to the people in front of him. And smirked. 

“What, this old thing?” Emrys gestured to his outfit, a red velvet tuxedo, and gave a little twirl on the platform. “Why, I just got back from prom.”

The six or so people that were actually listening laughed, the light that was focused on Emrys shifted off center a little bit.

“You thought I was joking?” He smiled again, and then pulled up the sleeve to reveal a corsage. “No, unfortunately prom was a very real, very unfortunate thing that very much did happen to me tonight.” 

Arthur faltered in his laughter for a minute. Was this man a teenager? Had Morgana brought him to a shady bar that not only served minors, but broadcasted that fact? He was going to kill her if anything of his got stolen tonight or if there were any run-ins with the police. Then, as if Emrys could see the gears turning in the audience’s heads, trying to place how old he was, he spoke up. 

“My fake I.D. couldn’t be that good, guys. Come on, you think Gaius would let that slide? Fuck no.” And all the regulars, like Morgana, who had the pleasure of knowing the bar’s owner, laughed. 

“No, I was a volunteer chaperone tonight, folks. You remember your school dances? With your English teacher breathing down your neck every time you tried to kiss your date? That’s me!”

Arthur realized at some point that this wasn’t actually stand-up. It wasn’t scripted. Emrys was just kind of talking into the mic, which is why he was so soft-spoken. He wasn’t actually trying to be heard. 

“I broke up a total of eleven couples trying to fuck under the bleachers tonight. And I was only there for two hours.” He looked up at the bartender, and made a motion with his hand before finishing his thought.

“God, I hate teenagers. You know someone actually gave me this corsage tonight?” He held up his wrist again, showing off the bright pink rose.

“This was given to me by a football player as a distraction, while his teammates poured not one, not two, but three travel-size bottles of vodka into the punch bowl.”

Arthur was reminded of his own time in high school, full of similar shenanigans. Only, if he had a teacher as ~~attractive~~ young as the gentleman on stage, he certainly wouldn’t have pulled something like that. 

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with that shit. So instead of, I don’t know, acting like an adult, I proceeded to drink the entire bowl of punch, one glass at a time over the course of an hour. Because one thing is certain, I am not and will never be, a snitch.” He paused for a minute, letting that sink in.

“Oh yeah, I am completely bombed right now. But it’s okay! Because Gwaine, here,” He motioned to the bartender handing him a drink, “pays me to come up here and babble whenever I get drunk!” 

The audience clapped and gave a little cheer at that. Morgana sipped on her cocktail next to Arthur, hanging on the man’s every word. Leon returned from the bar holding two beers. Arthur hated to admit it, after all the begging Morgana had done to take him here tonight, but Emrys was actually funny. Not in a stand-up comedy kind of way, but in an endearing way.

“Haha, very funny. You’re all looking at me.” Emrys pointed out, sullenly, as he sat down cross-legged on the stage. “You’re all looking at me like some sort of human disaster. Like wow! How can one man function so poorly? Well, let me tell you, I have no fucking clue.” He took a loud sip from his beer.

“Gwaine what is this shit? I fucking hate beer!” He yelled and threw the bottle at the bartender, where it smashed against the wall. Arthur was simultaneously horrified and ridiculously amused. Merlin looked like a child, pouting on the floor like that. 

“Forgive me for my immaturity, ladies and gentlemen. It’s just very tiring to spend your night around high schoolers.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The things they say and truly never fail to astound me. It’s like being around a hundred tiny Gwaines. Tonight I saw a young man try to smoke four cigarettes at the same time. I don’t even have to think of a joke to go with that. The mental image of a scrawny fourteen year old in a suit three times his size, attempting to light four cigarettes at the same time is enough.”

“I don’t really know what else to say.” Some more people had started watching since Emrys sat down. “Damn, I’m normally funnier than this. But I’ve gotta say you guys aren’t giving me anything. Normally when I get bored I just make fun of the audience.” He stood up and stepped off the platform, walking between the tables. 

“But you guys? You all suck.” He walked over to a table where a short woman with dark hair sat. “I could make fun of Gwen here for wearing pants to prom, but then I wouldn’t have a date to next year’s prom.” The woman, Gwen, blushed and punched Merlin in the arm.

The comedian walked through the tables, making little comments here and there, before stopping in front of Arthur. He pulled out a chair across from Morgana and sat down.

“Don’t even get me started on these fuckers.” He gestured at Arthur’s sister. “She came here last month, to my very first set, and glared at me for joking about Uther Pendragon’s hair. I mean, come _on_ , Morgana, you have to admit it’s terrible. The comb-over just isn’t working.” Arthur laughed at that, thinking of the hours his father spent in front of the mirror trying to comb it just right. 

“And besides, that is _by far_ not the worst thing I could say about him. I mean, come on,, the only reason we all know who Uther Pendragon is is because he’s actually a real-life comic book villain. He’s got that permanent scowl on his face, like he’s ready to throw you in the dungeons at any second. No clue why this lovely, _charming_ lady would be so offended on his behalf.”

Arthur and Leon couldn’t help but laugh, knowing how “charming” Morgana could really be. 

“And then what? She brings two male-models with her? To what?” Merlin slurred, looking at Arthur. “Make me nervous? Throw me off my game? I may be gay, but I’m not that desperate.” Merlin pat Leon, who blushed furiously, on the head before going back up to the platform. 

“Well I got completely drunk while working tonight, simply because I didn't want to get any of my students in trouble. And I didn't get caught! So I'm pretty invincible right now, Miss Pendragon.” 

The audience erupted in laughter. Leon recovered from being simultaneously complimented and insulted moments earlier and joined in. Arthur was still reeling. The comedian grinned and winked, actually _winked_ at them. “That’s all I’ve got for tonight folks. I’m Emrys, hope you’re all having a better night I am!” Merlin dropped the mic and swiftly ran to the corner to throw up in a trash bin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is forced to a.) acknowledge that he can't keep divulging his best-kept secrets at Gaius' bar, and b.) do something about it.

The funny thing about Merlin was that he spent so much of his life desperately trying to be funny that a career in comedy seemed like a dream. Sure, most people would feel insecure and uncomfortable exposing themselves the way that he did in his comedy routines. But he’d spent so much of his life playing the fool anyways, that it was second nature.

It started out fairly early, when it was just Merlin and his mom in a one room apartment. Hunith worked two jobs in the city and a third from home. She used to be an army nurse during the war. But when she met Balinor, her life fell apart so smoothly it was almost planned. She got pregnant, Balinor was a soldier in the British army and had to leave her behind. Merlin learned from a young age that the saddest thing was his mother’s smile, and the happiest was her laughter. Very quickly, he learned how to make Hunith laugh in the mornings when she’d been up all night sewing and the nights she spent pouring over photographs. (In some sad way, it felt like he was making it up to her for being born in the first place).

Merlin did well in school (despite his and Gwen’s teenage shenanigans) went on to college on a scholarship, and found a job easily. The majority of his paycheck went to his mother, against the judgement of everyone involved. But there was always that promise that he would take care of her, no matter what it cost him, no matter if Balinor returned. Hunith’s wellbeing was always going to be Merlin’s priority. 

Of course, Hunith only wanted Merlin to start a family and settle down. She cried upon finding out that after all this time, Gwen was still just a friend. Hunith would probably never know the truth, not at this rate anyways. Not between the made-up dead fiances and evictions. It was really hard not to feel like a fuck-up. Especially when Gwen wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was the biggest fuck-up she’d ever met. 

“Okay, I’ll be more careful.” Gwen was getting far too good at Gaius’ eyebrow twitch for Merlin’s liking. It was like having a portable Gaius that followed him home. 

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, Merls, you know I do. It’s just that we aren’t in college anymore. You can’t go around telling everyone you meet that you’re gay. Eventually, the school will find out. Or worse, the students will.” 

“I know,  _ I know. _ I just lose all common sense when I get like that. And it’s not like everyone at the Citadel doesn’t already know. I mean, most of them think Gwaine and I are  _ together.”  _ Gwen finished pouring her coffee, careful to avoid adding too much cream. She looked up at Merlin, lips set in a frown. It was distressing, to say the least, how much adulthood had aged her. Back in high school, in college, she was just as wild as Merlin. She would smoke and drink and throw parties in her parents’ basement. Something changed after graduation, and it jaded her. 

“Then maybe you should stop drinking.” The two of them made eye contact above their coffee mugs, and immediately started laughing. 

Merlin grew up with Gwen, ever since her family started renting the apartment above his. They were close, outcasted by their peers. They were both poor and missing a parent. They hated the pop music on the radio, and snuck out to see their friends’ bands play downtown clubs on the weekends. In college, they both majored in English and took all the same classes. Upon graduating, they found jobs at the same high school. They were inseparable, and Merlin didn’t know what he’d do if they ever drifted apart. 

Without Gwen, Merlin would be dead. Literally, figuratively, every sense of the word. She was the one who took him in a couple of nights after the eviction, who made sure he ate when his salary went towards his mother’s bills. Gwen was everything, and had been for a long time. When they were teenagers, she saved Merlin’s life more than once. 

It was only natural that she wanted him to stop doing comedy. It endangered their fragile setup, and decimated all of Merlin’s carefulness. 

“It’s only once a week, Gwen. Just Friday nights. And you  _ know _ no one from the school will be caught dead below 24th street.”

“I know, I know. Just Friday nights…” Gwen muttered, “pretending to be someone else again. For you, always for you.” She added under her breath, where she thought he couldn’t hear. And God, Merlin felt selfish. He felt like everything he did hurtGwen. 

“I’ll stop if you want me to. I swear.”

“No you won’t.”

“I love you, Gwen.” He said, and of course it’s not the way she wants him to say it, but he says it anyways. 

_____________________________________

Merlin was starting to remember why exactly, it was, that he never stayed uptown after work. Because if anyone who knew him from outside of work saw him, there would be trouble. 

For a housewife, Morgana Pendragon was quite troublesome. Out of her usual fishnet stockings and heels, she wore a simple dress. She was a lot less intimidating, and a lot more out of place in this context. 

“So, you mean to say that you’ve been trying to keep a secret identity?” Merlin hated the way that everything Morgana said sounded judgemental. He hated a lot of things about her, actually. How she screamed “Emrys!” at him from across the street, invited him to her apartment under the guise of kindness, and made the most incredible chicken sandwiches in the world. 

“Yes.” Morgana made Merlin feel small and incapable, like every other bully he’d encountered in his youth. Only, she wasn’t a bully and she genuinely liked him. 

“Because you’ll be fired if the school you work for finds out that you’re gay?” Merlin could only nod in response, preferring to hide behind a coffee mug. 

“That’s stupid. You don’t even wear a mask. And like,  _ all _ you talk about is your personal life.” 

“Okay, first of all. I’ve only done it three times, and I was so drunk I don’t remember most of it. The first two were accidents, and also did I mention how very drunk I was?” Merlin felt a little obliged, just a little, to defend himself. Because really, he had no clue what happened when he went on that stage. Each time, it had been well past the point of blackout drunk.

It was probably a strange picture--the two of them sitting across from each other at an art-deco dining table, sipping coffee and discussing double identities. Morgana, in a dress and an apron and Merlin in his well-worn tweed suit. It was a very different image from the two of them bickering at a bar, in t-shirts and ripped jeans. 

“But, you wanna keep doing it, don’t you? Friday nights at the Citadel. You wanna go up there sober, and see if you can still do it.” Then Morgana leaned across the table, like it was a secret that only she knew. Merlin caved. 

“Of course I do. I don’t even remember what I say that people find so funny. I feel like I just go up there and make a fool of myself. I hate waking up in Gwaine’s room the next morning, wondering what the fuck I said to a room full of strangers.” 

“I have a proposition for you, Emrys.”

Morgana smiled mischievously. It reminded Merlin of how Gwen would positively beam at him after pulling a bottle of liquor out from under her coat when they were teenagers. 

“I want to be your manager. I want to help you book clubs, write your routines, and develop a proper secret identity.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur trial-runs holding a VP position at his father's company, and it goes horribly, horribly wrong.

“Morgs, I'm kind of busy right now.” Arthur looked up at his father, mouthing an apology.

“Oh, but Arthur I have the most wonderful news!” She squealed into the phone, forcing Arthur to hold the receiver a little further from his ear. 

“You can tell me tonight, I'll come over to yours for dinner, but I really need to go now.” The sound of the steel toe of Uther’s boots hitting the linoleum was so loud, Morgana must have heard it through the phone. 

“Oh I get it, you’re too busy _filing_ or _counting money_ to talk to your sister.” She snickered, and Arthur hopes that she’ll feel bad about this later. She had first-hand experience with Uther Pendragon’s wrath, and knew full well how much he hated to wait. Arthur looks down at the gun on his desk, and back up to his scowling father.

“Something like that.” He sighs and hangs up, knowing how much he will regret it tonight when she’s yelling at him for hanging up in the middle of a conversation. 

“You shouldn't be taking personal calls on the work phone.” Uther muttered and for a second, Arthur could picture a normal boss saying that to him. A normal, non-parental and completely sane boss.

“Fair enough. So what is it exactly that you want me to do?” Arthur picked up the gun. The metal was so cold it almost stung his skin.

“I want you to go to Valiant’s house and you know, give him a little scare. Remind him how much he owes us.” In all honesty, Arthur could have predicted this. But the reality of his father’s profession was too much to consider when he was fresh out of college and made this arrangement.

“Aren't there, uh, certain _types_ of people we hire for this sort of thing?” He swallowed, having no clue how to fire a gun and no desire to explain why he didn't. (He spent that particular activity day in summer camp making out with Sophia in the woods.)

“Fucking Christ boy, just do what you're told!” Arthur expected the slap, but it never came. Instead, there was a piece of paper slammed onto his desk, with an address scrawled in Uther’s neat cursive.

“Fuck this. Fuck this so hard.” Grabbing his coat, Arthur left the office and headed towards Valiant’s address.

___________________________

He knocked lightly on the door, but that felt too polite. He raised his fist, ready to knock with more intention, but the door opened.

Arthur recognized Valiant as one of the more unsavory characters who frequented the office. He was around forty percent sure this man was a bounty hunter, sixty percent sure he was a hitman. 

Arthur stood up straighter. Valiant was easily six inches taller, four times stronger, and Arthur was seriously wondering if this was Uther’s plan to commit filicide without getting arrested. Well, if there was ever a time to “fake it til you make it” it was now. 

“Valiant. I'm with Pen-” The man grabbed Arthur by his suit jacket and pulled him inside the apartment.

“I know exactly who you are, boy. And your father's got quite a bit of nerve sending _you_ after me.” Pressed against the door by a man twice his size, Arthur was somewhat aware of the danger he was in. At the same time, he was quite upset at the similarities between this man and Uther Pendragon. He was kind of upset that his father was an actual crime lord and that he thought Arthur knew how to use a gun. 

“Oh, fuck off. Can everybody stop calling me ‘boy’? I'm twenty five, for Christ’s sake.” He wriggled out of Valiant’s grasp. He scrambled to the other side of the room, waving a finger at the other man.

“You owe us money and you ran out on us. And if you don't get it back, we both know I'm not the worst person Uther can send after you.” He saw Valiant shudder and knew that they both had Aredian in mind. 

“Or I can take care of the Pendragon problem once and for all.” Valiant stalked over to the kitchenette where Arthur stood. Arthur ran to the other side of the apartment. Of course, it was a downtown apartment that the likes of Valiant could afford. So, “across” really referred to about six feet of space. 

Valiant swung at Arthur, and what ensued was the most pathetic fight scene to ever occur. His fist met Arthur’s jaw painfully. Arthur swung back, but Valiant caught his fist. The larger man continued to rain blows on Arthur, in the head, the gut, the dignity. The few hits Arthur managed to land on the other man were excruciating _._ His hand positively stung.

Arthur really wanted to feel some sort of understanding with the man in front of him. They both worked for Uther, knew his wrath. Only, Arthur lived in a penthouse house on the upper east side and Valiant’s whole apartment was smaller than his kitchen. Yeah, there wasn’t really any sort of kinship here. 

Another fist met his nose, a knee to his gut, and Arthur was finally forced onto the floor. The sole of Valiant’s boot was pressed against his face when Arthur remembered he had a gun. Getting said gun in his current position was difficult, but manageable. He folded his hand underneath him, wildly grabbing at anything resembling a weapon. He touched something metal, and yanked it out of his blazer pocket. It wasn't the gun. It was, in fact, a fountain pen Morgana bought him last year. But hey, it was better than nothing.

By the time Valiant lifted his foot and realized there was a pen sticking out of his shin, Arthur was out the door and sprinting to Morgana’s apartment. 

____________________________________

On the subway, Arthur was forced to assess his injuries. His nose was still bleeding, despite the handkerchief he used to stop the bleeding. His jaw and stomach hurt like hell. The skin around his eye was tender, and breathing hurt a little bit. The worst damage though, was to his suit. His beautiful, custom-tailored, Italian suit jacket was torn at the shoulders and the inside pocket was torn clean from the interior. The slacks were torn and scuffed at the knee. It was one of the saddest things Arthur had ever seen. 

He got off at the station closest to Morgana’s apartment, knowing he was six hours early and should be going back to the office. He didn’t even bother with the polite knocking, he just pressed the doorbell over and over until Morgana appeared in the doorway. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur. What happened?” He limped his way to the couch, clutching the bloodied handkerchief against his face. Morgana ran to the kitchen, most likely to get an ice pack. 

“Dad wants me to die.” He said when she met him in the living room, handing him an ice cap. He pressed the bag against his throbbing nose.

“You have to elaborate.” She tapped her foot, a gesture so painfully reminiscent of Uther that he didn’t want to open his eyes and see the resemblance. 

“Whoa! No! You gotta clean that before you ice it!” Arthur’s eyes shot open upon hearing a third voice that was decidedly not Leon. 

“Who the fuck is that? Are you cheating on Leon?” He sat up and spun around to see a lanky man in an ill-fitting suit. 

“What? No!” Morgana yelped, obviously offended. “That’s…”

“Merlin.” The man finished, offering a broad smile. 

The two of them spend a minute looking at each other, engaged in some sort of staring contest Arthur didn’t get. Arthur laid back down, head pounding from the trip uptown.

“He’s an old friend.” Morgana added, as though Arthur didn’t already know any friend of hers who could be considered “old.”

The phone started ringing in the kitchen, and Arthur knew it was for him. Morgana smiles in pity, before rushing to answer it. He hears her sickeningly sweet, “Hi, Daddy!” and cringes. 

“Alright, I take it you’re Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin says, staring down at him. 

“Unfortunately.” Arthur sighs, feeling ridiculously small with a bloody nose and an ice cap on his head. 

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up.” When Arthur opened his eyes, it was like a vision of an angel appearing before him. Merlin looked down at him, haloed by the afternoon sun, with his hand outstretched to Arthur. 

Arthur led Merlin to Morgana’s ridiculously large master bathroom, lingering just for a moment by the kitchen to hear the conservation. (“No, he’s not fine. He’s bleeding and has a broken nose! How could you send him out for something so dangerous!”)

They walk down the hallway in silence, past family photos and wedding memorabilia. Past the unfortunate hole Arthur made in the drywall last week, when Uther refused to pay him. They made it to the master bedroom, with Morgana and Leon’s frivolous Victorian bed frame, and into the bathroom.

“Do you guys seriously not know how to treat a wound?” Merlin asked as he ran a washcloth under the tap. 

Arthur took this time to examine the man in question. Merlin wore a tweed suit (which made Arthur want to cry it was so ugly) and his hair was unkempt, hanging over his eyes and sticking up in every direction. He was thin and pale, almost emaciated, and his right eye kept twitching at random. It was quite unsettling. No, there was no way Morgana would possibly cheat on Leon with someone so _un_ -Leonlike. 

“We were very…” Arthur paused, searching for the right words, “well taken care of as children.” He settled on, not wanting to discuss the various nannies that looked after them in the summer or his boarding school years that consisted of more emotional bullying (on his part) than physical.

Merlin pressed the wash cloth to his nose. Looking at his own reflection, Arthur felt sick. His left eye was bruised, his nose swollen, his lip was split and there was a bump on the back of his head. On the left side of his face, he could see the dirty imprint of Valiant’s boot. God, he must look so weak. 

“How the fuck is it still bleeding?” Arthur exclaimed, tilting his head back. 

“It’s broken, just lean forward and breathe through your mouth.” Merlin said, rifling through Morgana’s cabinets and pulling out her sorry excuse for a first-aid kit. He pulled out a roll of gauze and handed it to Arthur. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Arthur demanded.

“Pack in your nose to stop the bleeding.” Merlin responded, voice rife with judgement. Arthur lifted his hand to unravel the gauze, to find his knuckles bloody and bruised. He remembered the crack of his hand hitting Valiant’s jaw and shuddered. Arthur stuffed the pieces of gauze into his nostrils, and for the millionth time that day, felt weak and pathetic. He felt the washcloth, warm against the side of his face, as Merlin cleaned the boot print from Arthur’s face. 

“Someone must’ve been in the lower town.” Merlin comments, dryly, and Arthur laughs.

“Well, business is business.” Arthur responds, knowing full well that what he does cannot and should not be considered business. “Valiant sure knows how to pack a punch though.” He finishes, and Merlin removes the washcloth from his face. 

“Valiant?” He asks, looking at Arthur straight in the eyes. “Big muscle guy, buzzcut, wears a lot of camo?” 

“Yeah.” Arthur says, not wanting to spend another second discussing his attacker. 

“Huh,” is all Merlin says before Morgana filters back into the room, looking stressed out and satisfied simultaneously. 

“Go home, Wart. He’s waiting.” She says, and he knows that the nickname, that stupid affectionate moniker leftover from their favorite nanny, means that it’s bad. It means that Uther is beyond angry, beyond volume at this point. 

Arthur gives Merlin a brief nod of thanks before walking into the hallway, punching a twin hole into the wall from the last time he was here. He yelped from the impact against his already sore knuckles, and desperately hoped Merlin didn’t hear it. 

_________________________________________

Arthur’s apartment, in sharp contrast to Morgana's, had a clear and clean modern motif. All the furniture was cohesive, in crisp shades of white, black, and red. His plastic couch offered absolutely no comfort, and his bathroom certainly didn’t have a first aid kit. 

Uther was waiting in the kitchen, because all important conversations happen in the kitchen. Arthur leaned against the doorway, shoving the gauze further up his nose when he felt it slipping. He rolled his neck, already expecting what was to come. 

They spent the rest of the evening talking about how Arthur got the shit beat out of him. Uther said that he was a weakling, a failure, and nearly slapped him a few times. Arthur was demeaned as the remnants of his dignity slowly drained out of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Sorry about the ridiculously long time in between updates, but I'm working on it! Also wanted to clarify that while this is technically a historical fic, it takes place in a fictional American city called "Camelot." This is purely because I don't know enough about Manhattan to write a fic set there. Thanks so much for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, the single spotlight felt brighter and the people seemed louder. This was his first time performing with a routine that he thought of before walking onto the platform. His first time performing genuinely, intentionally, without so much alcohol in his blood that his thoughts ran together.

Morgana Pendragon was everything a performer could want in a manager. She was dedicated, well-funded, and good at making connections. She was the daughter of the most powerful man in the city, ensuring no one would ever dare cross her, and her resources were limitless. She walked briskly, with an almost regal air of authority. She commanded every room she entered, and knew exactly how to make Merlin cope with doubt and insecurity. 

The only downside of Morgana as a manager was that she had far too much time on her hands. She calls Merlin’s phone number (which is really Gwen’s phone) at all hours of the day and night. Since he refused to tell her the name of the school where he worked, she resorted to calling over and over again until Merlin finally got home from work, and answered the phone. 

“Fuck, Morgana. Some of us actually have jobs.” 

“So you and Arthur keep telling me.” She moved on easily, exasperation creeping into her voice. “You have a gig  _ tonight _ and we still haven’t gotten the alter ego thing down.”

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what he could do in terms of an “alter ego” beyond wearing a ski mask (which Morgana shut down immediately.) She had suggested a new wardrobe, new hairstyle, even make-up. She’d been trying to start the whole process of cultivating a new look weeks ago, but Merlin kept shooting her down. 

It was fine to  _ think  _ about doing comedy regularly, risking his job, risking Gwen’s job for it. It was something else entirely to actually  _ do _ it. A defined alter ego, a costume, really, would make everything too real. It would make the issue unavoidable, and Merlin was getting so used to avoiding the topic completely. Gwen kept wrinkling her nose whenever he brought it up, so it was easier to drop the subject.

At home, well, at Gwen’s house, Merlin was normal. He was just another teacher at the private school uptown. He ate toast with raspberry jam every morning. Gwen would make a single pot of coffee and they would each take half of it in to-go mugs on the train ride. They would teach their classes, give boring lectures on dead authors, and they would grade papers. They would go home, eat a microwaved dinner and go to bed. They’d sleep three feet apart, and if he ever woke with her arms around him, Merlin would ignore it. 

On Fridays, they went to the Citadel, talked Gwaine into giving them free drinks and talked shit on the other teachers. Gwen would sympathize with the subpar performers and chastise Merlin for mocking them. They lived their ordinary lives, wore their business-casual clothes, and completely forgot the days when they would spend all night on the town, drunkenly requesting bands to play their favorite songs. There was no trace of the wild and reckless teenagers they’d been for so long, at least not until now. Until now, Merlin had never touched the microphone, never made himself known as anyone more than a friend of the owner. Never let anyone know that he was anything but ordinary. 

On the other side of Gwen’s non-verbal judgement and resentment towards all things out of routine was Morgana’s bright, energetic insistence that everything should be done with gusto. Morgana lit up rooms and highlighted Merlin’s own, subtler charms. She knew exactly how much attention was the right amount of attention, and she asserted that all attention was good attention. She was deeply reminiscent of the Gwen Merlin used to know. The Gwen who challenged strangers to drinking contests, who built her own motorcycle and made Merlin ride it with her all the way upstate. Merlin wasn’t ready to let go of those wild years when they graduated--he wasn’t ready to grow up so quickly. If Morgana could give him a taste of what he loved so well-the exhilaration of doing something just for the hell of it-then Merlin was going to chase that feeling as long as he could. 

* * *

Morgana walked briskly through the mall with all of the glamor and grace that Merlin lacked. She flitted from department store to department store, sampling make-up, lotion, perfume. She made him try on various pairs of jeans and shirts, jackets and coats. Occasionally she would grab a suit and force Merlin into a high-end dressing room with a cruel enthusiasm. 

“You know, I don’t really think yellow’s your color.” Morgana tilted her head, quite obviously holding back laughter, as she sized Merlin up. 

The yellow sequined monstrosity glared back at Merlin in the mirror. This was the thirteenth outfit he’s tried on at the seventh store and if every man had a breaking point, retail was Merlin’s. He grabbed the next item on the shelf, which was a very promising leather blazer and turned to his manager.

“We’re getting this one and we’re going home.”

When they got back to Morgana’s apartment, they spent the rest of the day creating the look of “Emrys.” The jacket ended up being a good pick somehow. Merlin had never owned a leather jacket but he so desperately wanted one throughout his adolescence. Looking at the rest of the outfit put together, Merlin felt cooler than he ever had in his whole life. Morgana had picked out a pair of jeans that were most definitely too tight to be considered becoming for anyone with an academic profession. They tried him in button downs, but decided that was too close to his work clothes. That being said, Morgana wouldn’t let him wear the baggy t-shirts he used to wear. She seemed determined to make every part of the ensemble too tight and too uncomfortable. 

They tried makeup, which was horrible and led to nothing but taunting on Morgana’s part. They spent two hours on his hair. Merlin didn’t see any reason to change his usual, slightly combed style, but Morgana protested. She insisted that the look would need his hair gelled back. (“You have to  _ look _ different, act  _ different _ , do everything  _ differently  _ if you don’t want anyone to recognize you.”) So he gelled his hair back, and wore tight jeans and t-shirts with a leather jacket. Morgana handed him a pair of black-rimmed glasses with clear lenses. 

“It’s important.” She defended when Merlin said he refused to make his alter ego Clark Kent. But he put the glasses on anyways, and found that he didn’t hate them. 

“I look like a fucking greaser.” He said, staring down his reflection, with the complete disguise. Merlin did have to admit, though, that he looked shockingly different. His face was the same, but the glasses drew away from his more prominent features. He almost didn’t recognize himself with his hair neatly gelled back, for the first time ever. The clothes were tight, revealing in a way that he hated. 

Everything about the disguise was contrived. None of it was based on who Merlin was, how he held himself together. It was completely different. This was the look of someone confident, someone cool and collected. This wasn’t the same Merlin who lived in second-hand suits and moth-bitten button downs. This wasn’t even the Merlin who used to go see his friends’ bands play in dive bars and got high in basements. That Merlin lived in baggy t-shirts and jeans that were two sizes too big, with dusty boots that were much older than he was at the time. 

Merlin felt uncomfortable with looking like this. He felt so unlike himself that he knew Morgana did a good job. The man Merlin was looking at, the one staring back at him, wasn’t Merlin at all. It was someone else entirely--it was Emrys. 

He was nervous about his set, despite the confidence that came from a secure identity, and spent the rest of the afternoon writing down jokes and discussing them with Morgana. It was reassuring to hear Morgana laugh and tell him how stupid he was. Her presence was relaxing, as she told him that he was definitely talented, even if he was a dork. She was a good manager and well on her way to being a good friend, in spite of all her chaos.

* * *

Obviously, the Citadel itself was unchanged. Merlin’s new appearance and manager had no real effect on the bar or the crowd. But somehow, the single spotlight felt brighter and the people seemed louder. This was his first time performing with a routine that he thought of  _ before _ walking onto the platform. His first time performing genuinely, intentionally, without so much alcohol in his blood that his thoughts ran together. Before now, it could be passed off as a joke if everyone hated him. Before, Gwaine could pull him off the stage and apologize for his drunken behavior. But with the new look, Morgana, and his name on flyers, it was undeniably real. 

“Good evening,” He started, “I’m Emrys.” The light was so bright, he could feel himself sweating. His hair was stiff and sticky from the gel. Having his hair out of his face in combination with the tight clothes made Merlin feel vulnerable. His only saving grace was the glass of whiskey Gwaine handed him before he stepped onto the platform. A single glass. And he hadn’t drank at all before now. He was dead sober, and about to tell jokes about the sorry state of his life to complete strangers. 

Thankfully, there weren’t too many people listening at this point, except for Morgana, Gaius, and Gwen. Arthur was there too, which made Merlin feel some sort of emotion he wasn’t ready to explore just yet. He forced the thought from his mind and tried to focus on the act. His vision was a little blurry, the glasses certainly didn’t help, and his head was fuzzy, but at least he no longer felt like everyone was watching him. He took a deep breath, remembering the words he wrote earlier today.

“So, if you’ve seen me before you’ll notice that I no longer look like an altar boy who took the wrong train and ended up downtown. There was a whole makeover montage, with music and perfume, et cetera. Basically, I lived through the plot of  _ My Fair Lady _ in one afternoon. 

“I was even told how to talk like a proper gentleman.” He took a sip of whiskey, coughing slightly from the burn. “That is, I was reprimanded for saying ‘fuck’ in a department store. Same thing though, really.” He takes another sip, trying to create room for a transition. Of course, he hates this part so much. How planned it was, waiting for laughs, creating set-ups for jokes. None of this was what Merlin really wanted to be doing. It felt so ingenuine, so contrived, especially when he looked like this.

“I had this really long set-up prepared where I compared myself to Eliza Doolittle and made fun of the rich but I’ll get to that another time.” Merlin knew going off-script at his first official gig was a terrible idea, especially when his manager was sitting  _ right there. _ At the same time though, he couldn’t be bothered to follow instructions, even if he was the one who wrote them.

“No, what I want to talk about is a fairly relatable experience to most of you,” Merlin made a gesture around the bar.

“Not you guys.” He said, pointing at Morgana and Leon.

“Certainly not you.” He said, pointing at Arthur who glared daggers back at him. 

“So would anyone besides the aforementioned socialites who are here as tourists-not the rest of you fuckers who I know come here to get drunk and won’t remember a thing I’ve said all night-will you tell me what exactly one is supposed to do when you discover that your high-school bully is now an actual hitman?

“Oh, and I don’t mean like a high society hitman who kills with poison, or lays on a couple of punches for a debt collector.” He looked at Arthur, just because he liked the way he blushed under the attention. And maybe just because he couldn’t get the image of Arthur’s broken nose, so reminiscent of Merlin’s youth, out of his head. 

“I mean like a guy who kills for money, damn the law, damn the consequences. And this information, that my former bully now kills people for a living, is quite alarming for me personally. Because in high school, see, my one comfort was knowing that the worst he could do to me was rob me of both my material possessions and my dignity. Like, I would be sitting in the locker, a good three hours after he shoved me into it, thinking ‘well it’s not like he can  _ kill me  _ or anything.”

Merlin paused, taking note of Morgana’s face, as she tried so hard not to look proud. In half of a second, he looked at Arthur. He saw Arthur’s eyes widening in recognition and Merlin gave him a look which he hoped was interpreted as  _ ‘Don’t say a word of this ever,’  _ but probably looked like he was about to sneeze. 

“Except well, now he sort of  _ can  _ kill me. So you know, there goes that comfort. I guess I’ll just have to not do any of the things he made fun of me for-right?” People were laughing, but most importantly  _ Arthur was laughing _ . He seemed to move past the recognition, but his eyes lingered on Merlin, trailing up his body. Another thing Merlin didn’t have the headspace to think about now. Instead, he would focus on the fact that Arthur was laughing at him, at his jokes. 

The only reason this was important was because Merlin hadn’t seen Arthur smile before (hadn’t really seen him without a bloody nose and busted lip either.) And Arthur’s smile was horribly, horribly distracting. His cheeks flushed and his eyes were so bright and full and a million other things Merlin couldn’t describe.

“So, uh.” He swallowed, averting his gaze from Arthur. “Time to stop having big ears, I guess. That could get me killed. So could reading books, the newspapers, doing homework...anything that could be considered the activities of a ‘communist egghead’ in his words. Can’t be gay, can’t be skinny, can’t be uncoordinated...you know, I’m starting to think my whole personality is just going to get me killed.”

He finishes the rest of the set well, save for when he starts slurring his words by the end. It goes smoothly, even with most of it being improvised. Every time he faltered before a joke, he would signal for Gwaine to hand him another glass. Merlin consumes so much alcohol during the set, he almost forgets about the secret identity. He fidgets with the glasses, knowing they don’t belong there. He kept going to run his hands through his hair, to find it firmly gelled into place. 

Arthur laughs at every joke, which makes Merlin happier than he’d care to admit. Morgana tells him how well he did. He’s so drunk he forgets who Leon is momentarily, and decides to tell him how much prettier he would look with longer hair. Morgana has a field day with this, continuing to talk about it even as they get into a cab. People filter out, and Arthur slides out among the crowd, not even stopping to acknowledge Merlin once. Gwaine helps him to sit behind the bar, since his vision’s blurring by the end of it. 

“That might’ve been too much, yeah?” He asks, grinning at Merlin as he wipes down the bar.

“Not at all.” Is what Merlin tries to say, but what comes out is more along the lines of gibberish.

“You sleeping here tonight?”

“No, no. Gwen is Gwen.” Merlin responds thoughtfully, focusing all his energy on diction.

“Very insightful.” Gwaine laughs. “Gwen  _ is _ Gwen, but if you haven’t noticed, she isn’t here.”

“What?” Merlin was certain Gwen was there for his set. He could’ve sworn he’d seen her at the back, trying not to laugh. She said they’d take the train back together, since neither one of them liked taking it alone. 

“She didn’t come tonight.” Merlin doesn’t register anything that happens after that. He’s too focused on the fact that Gwen wasn’t there to notice Gwaine carrying him up the stairs to Gaius’ apartment. He mumbles incoherently about how Gwen is always there, even if she doesn’t like it while Gwaine sets him on the couch. He doesn’t hear Gwaine telling Gaius to keep an eye on him, that he probably had too much tonight. 

He’s already passed out on the couch by the time Gaius calls his mother, telling her that Merlin’s okay. The phrases “in a rough patch” and “since Will passed” come up a lot in the conversation that follows, while Gaius paces the floor, eyeing his nephew with pity. 

The irony is that Merlin had a great night. He gave a good routine and every single parton was listening to him by the end of it. Gaius doesn’t tell her about the comedy, about how many more drinks were bought, how many more people were even in the bar because of Merlin. 

Gwen will come by in the morning, apologizing profusely and promising to never to do it again. Merlin doesn’t ask her what she was doing instead of supporting him. He just hugs her and asks politely to go home. He says that they have papers to grade. They have coffee to make. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been so long since I've written for this one. I was kind of on the fence about continuing it, but the comments inspired me to see it through! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, leaving kudos! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pot, meet kettle. Gwen, meet Morgana.

The woman at the door was stunning, dark hair curling around her jaw, perfectly complementing the amber tones of her eyes. Her pastel button-up shirt was tucked into a long brown skirt that just barely touched the floor. Her expression was hard, but Arthur could see her nerves in the way she gathered the fabric into her clenched fists.

“May I come in?” She asks softly. Arthur turned around, his eyes asking his sister a silent question. She nodded and Arthur motioned for the woman to come in. She walked in slowly, adjusting the messenger bag on her shoulder, but keeping one hand held on her skirt. 

“Gwen, I presume?” Morgana asked, smiling brightly and motioning for the woman to sit down. 

“I go by Guinevere, actually.” She sat down on the very edge of the loveseat across from Morgana. Arthur remained in the doorway, unsure of his place in this strange situation. (In this strange, new life Morgana was building for herself.)

“Of course, if that’s what you prefer, Guinevere. I assume you’re here to discuss Merlin?” 

Arthur froze where he stood, remembering last Friday. Remembering seeing kind, dorky Merlin on a stage, swearing and self-deprecating for laughter. (Seeing ridiculous, poorly-dressed Merlin looking like _that._ )

“Well,” Guinevere bit her lip, holding her hands in her lap. “I’m just worried that what you’re doing for him isn’t right.”

Arthur took a seat next to his sister, who was sipping coffee like it was the most intimidating act in the world. Guinevere did appear to be trembling, though, so it was working.

“How do you figure that?” 

“It’s just-I’m sorry-I’m so nervous.” Arthur realized that he felt bad for her then, having been on the end of Morgana’s wrath before. He had no idea what exactly they were discussing-Morgana’s friendship with Merlin, her support of his bizarre double identity? 

“It’s alright, take a deep breath.” He said gently, and the way Guinevere’s eyes brightened suggested that that was the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to her. 

“He’s been having a really rough time, lately. A friend of ours died recently and-”

“How recently?” Morgana inquired, voice cold as stone. Arthur made a note to remind her that other people had feelings and grief should be dealt with delicately.Then again, he’d been trying to tell her that for twenty years to no avail. 

“Two years ago this July.” 

Arthur heard his sister mumble something along the lines of “not _that_ recent” before he coughed loudly, trying to endue some sort of tact in her.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He says instead. Morgana scowls at him, wordlessly asserting _‘This_ _is my world, stay out of it.’_

“Merlin was much closer to him than I was. He took his death really hard, and I’m just worried that whatever you’re encouraging him to do isn’t the best for him. Being in that...environment...again could bring back memories.”

“Well, let me assure you, Guinevere, then. Merlin’s best interest is my top priority.” Morgana smiled sweetly, almost sickeningly so. “And what he and I are doing is perfectly healthy for him.”

Arthur was struggling to keep track of the conversation, what with both of them being so vague. As far as he could tell, Morgana was...buying new clothes for Merlin? So he could do stand-up comedy at a dive bar? _Were_ they having an affair? He wasn’t quite understanding what either of them were implying. 

“Hold on.” He said, and both of them turned sharply to face him. “What exactly _are_ you doing Morgana? Isn’t he just doing stand-up? Why’s that so bad?”

“Arthur, quit being an idiot.” Morgana hissed. 

“Well, it’s that the stand-up routines can be a little... _provocative_.” Guinevere offered in explanation. Arthur struggled to think of how anything he heard last night could be considered provocative in any light. Then he remembered Morgana taking him to one of his earlier gigs, way before Arthur had even met Merlin. He remembered the way his heart stopped beating when the comedian, he now knew to be Merlin, said that he was gay. Arthur remembered the hotness in his cheeks when Merlin winked at their table.

“Oh.”

“We both work at a religious school uptown. The views are...should we say, _strict._ The stand-up isn’t proper, it isn’t professional. He can’t risk a parent or a coworker recognizing him-”

“No one would recognize him!” Morgana interjected fiercely, her composure cracking slightly. Arthur wanted to say that he had recognized Merlin, after only having met him once, but knew that Morgana would never forgive him. (“Who’s side are you even on?” She’d say, and he’d feel worse for making her upset.)

“The stand-up isn’t the only thing they’d fire Merlin for if someone saw him.” Guinevere added quietly. Arthur felt cold then, flooded with his own memories of wooden rulers stinging against his skin after a teacher found him and Owain in the broom closet. Of his father’s belt against his back, after he found Arthur and Kay in his room.

“I understand your concerns, but this is Merlin’s decision. He’s what-twenty-four? You can’t keep him safe forever.”

Something small changed in Gwen’s face, just the set of her jaw tightened ever so slightly, but Arthur could tell it changed everything. 

“Mrs. Knightley.” She began, venom gradually creeping into her tone. “I understand how you might think that this is fun--taking a vacation from your penthouse on the Upper East Side and slumming it downtown, managing a comedian, a gay one at that. It’s sensational, it’s a nice distraction from being a housewife. But these are people’s lives. Real people with problems you couldn’t begin to understand.”

“I’m sorry, but you are way out of-” Morgana started, but Guinevere cut her off. Arthur watched as her hands began to shake. Absently, Arthur wondered why women always apologize, even in the middle of an argument. Had he been in Morgana’s position, the words “I’m sorry” would have never crossed his mind. 

“You might think that two years is enough time to grieve a childhood best friend. You might think you understand the situation, because Merlin is so cheerful and he knows how to make a joke land. He knows how to present himself like he’s completely okay. But you’re not the one who had to convince him to live with you after he got evicted, who had to beg him to accept a favor instead of sleeping on the streets. You didn’t grow up like we did, with hardly enough money to keep the heat on in the winter. You can’t possibly understand how incredible it is that Merlin put himself through college, that he landed this teaching job. If he loses this job, he loses _everything_.”

In the past twenty-five years of his life, Arthur has seen his sister a number of ways. He’s seen her angry, sad, happy, nostalgic, and everything in between. Until now, though, he had never seen Morgana rendered speechless. Guinevere’s hands had stopped trembling, now resting lightly in her lap.

“Maybe you’re right.” Morgana began, eyes fixed on Guinevere. Arthur wasn’t even sure if she remembered he was in the room. “Maybe I am just a trust-fund housewife with nothing better to do than meddle in your life. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about Merlin, that he isn’t my friend, too. He’s quite clearly drowning, with or without the stand-up. At least, when he’s with me, or when he’s up there, making people laugh, he’s not alone. Without it, he’s completely isolated.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably. It was strange, hearing about Merlin from this standpoint. He felt like he was spying, like he was hearing things he probably shouldn’t. 

“I don’t pretend I haven’t lived a charmed life. But I do understand grief, Guinevere, better than you think. And I know that if you shut yourself out, if there’s nothing you’re passionate about, that you can’t survive.”

Arthur remembered Morgana’s sister, Morgause’s, death vividly. She was killed by one of Uther’s bounty hunters, after attempting to rob the company. Morgana was barely nineteen at the time, and only knew her sister for six months. She dropped out of college that year, spent the rest of it staring out the window in her room, not speaking to anyone.

Guinevere had started speaking again, only to be interrupted by the phone ringing. 

“I’ll get it.” Arthur said, already expecting it to be for him. 

“Yes?” 

“Quit loitering at your sister’s.” Uther’s voice answered, an octave lower than when he spoke in person. “You’ve got work to do.”

“It’s Saturday.” Arthur whined. 

“Criminals don’t stop just because you want a 9 to 5 shift.” The line disconnected and Arthur was halfway tempted to wrap the cord around his neck. 

“I’ll be back!” He shouted at the girls, neither of whom seemed to pay him any attention, and bounded out the front door. 

* * *

The gun felt awkward and heavy where it rested in the holster against Arthur’s side, albeit not as awkward as the man in the driver’s seat of the car. Percival seemed unable to keep his eyes on the road. He kept turning to Arthur with a nervous smile and a half-hearted attempt at conversation. 

“I-uh, your father said you went to business school?” 

“Yes.” Arthur spat through gritted teeth. Percival’s hands tightened on the wheel. 

“What school?”

“Forgive me, but seeing as that we’ve been on the highway for almost an hour and I still have no clue where we’re going, who you are, or why I’m here, I’m a little hesitant to socialize.” Arthur snarled, crossing his arms and glaring out the window. 

“I’m not supposed to-”

“I know!” 

They passed the rest of the drive in silence. Arthur gazed at the greenery behind them, ahead of them. The rolling fields and wildflowers, an occasional livestock ranch. The calm of it all seemed to mock him. It is unfair that nature gets to be so still while he is thrusted towards an unknown at ninety miles an hour. 

A country song plays on the radio, almost inaudibly as static cuts through the further they get from the city. The singer croons wistfully about seeing his love in the morning and Arthur feels worse. 

They get off the highway and pull onto a dirt road, towards an unnamed building. Arthur wants to laugh to push down the fear threatening to constrict his chest. He wants to laugh and tell himself that his father hasn’t hired someone to kill him. That would be absurd, right?

“We’re here.” Percival offers meekly, getting out of the car and walking around to Arthur’s door. 

“I can get it, thanks.” Arthur snaps, slapping away the other man’s outstretched hand. There is no place for false chivalry in this business. If it could even be called “business.”

“Where are we?” He asks, swiping lint off his trousers and looking up at the large, flat grey wall of concrete. 

“That information is classified.”

“Oh, so it’s illegal.” They step in stride towards the door, pushing it open in tandem. 

“In a sense.” 

“Well, if you work for my father…”

“I don’t.” Percival’s head snaps up, meeting Arthur’s eyes with more conviction than he’d ever displayed. He said it with a note of malice, just enough to remind Arthur that he could kill him if he wanted to. 

It was completely empty inside. A large room with no furniture and spray-painted targets all over the bullet-hole laden walls. 

“Target practice?” Arthur let out the breath he’d been holding since he left Morgana’s. “Good Lord, I thought you were hired to kill me.”

“Not yet, at least.” Percival offered a weak smile.

_

Gwen came home late. By the time she walked through the door, silhouetted by streetlight, Merlin was already halfway through his papers. He was at the kitchen table, reflecting on the best way to avoid Thoreau next week when she drags out the chair across from him. 

“You feeling okay?” She asks gently, trying to meet his downcast eyes. “That was some hangover you had this morning...”

“I’m fine. Nothing tea and toast can’t fix.” Tea, toast, and an afternoon spent on the bathroom floor. 

“Should I put the kettle on?”

“I already made a pot.”

A silence settles over the room as Gwen moves to the kitchen. Every sound is painfully present and far too loud. The splash of the tea in the mug, the clink of the metal against ceramic as Gwen stirs the sugar in, the tap of Merlin’s foot against the lino. 

They took the train home from Gaius’ in the morning, making idle chat about weekend plans and avoiding the issue at hand. When they arrived back at the apartment, Gwen made a pot of coffee and left without a word. Merlin spent the day vomiting and trying to ignore this new rift opening between them. Although it was much easier to ignore when she wasn’t home. 

“Why weren’t you there last night?” He starts to say when she interjects “I saw Morgana today.”

“I-you what?”   
“I saw Morgana today.” Gwen returns to her seat, taking a nervous sip of tea while Merlin gapes at her. 

“Why?”

“I guess I just wanted to understand why you’re doing this, why it’s so important and…” She trails off, gaze shifting guiltily to her lap. “...and why you didn’t come to me with it first.”

“Oh my God-” Merlin laughs, recognizing the familiar shame etched into her expression. “-you yelled at her, didn’t you?”

“Just a little bit…she was being so rude.”

Having been on the receiving end of both of their wraths individually, Merlin could vividly imagine the argument between Gwen and Morgana. 

“And you know I can’t stand it when rich people try to act humble and-”

“You think  _ Morgana  _ was trying to act  _ humble _ ?”

“You know what I mean. Just-” She sighed. “-anyone in that zipcode going to The Citadel.”

Merlin smiled, as memories of high school flooded back to him. Memories of Gwen going to house shows and dive bars to call out the wealthy “tourists.” 

“So...what did you guys talk about?” He shakes his head, trying not to laugh at the thought of Gwen screaming at Morgana. 

“Well, we yelled back and forth for quite a bit, mostly about you but then I think we both got carried away without Arthur to mediate-”

“Arthur?” Merlin can’t help the way his head shoots up at the mention of the other man. “You met Arthur?”

“Yes, and he was quite lovely, but really Merlin, I wouldn’t get involved with him. He’s practically a hitman.”

“Hey! I never said I was going to ‘get involved.’ I was just curious as to-you know-if he’s-how he’s doing good?” Merlin stumbled through the sentenced, cheeks blazing red and ears growing pinker by the second. 

“I’m going to choose to ignore that.” Gwen took a smug sip from her mug. “But to answer your question, Arthur is fine but after he left Morgana and I escalated to more...personal attacks.”

“Good Lord. So what--you can’t stand each other and you’re going to make me choose between you both?” It wasn’t even a question, of course he’d choose Gwen. He’d always choose Gwen, over anything and anyone. 

“Actually we’re getting lunch tomorrow.” Gwen smirked, and Merlin knew how much she relished getting to control the narrative. She lived off those fifteen seconds where Merlin thought he wouldn’t get to see Morgana again.

“You’re such a bastard.” He breathed out, the weight in his chest dissipating with her light, easy laughter. “You both are.”

“As it turns out, we actually have quite a bit in common beyond wanting to control your life.”

“I hate both of you.” Merlin grumbled, hiding his grin behind the nearly empty mug of coffee. 


End file.
